No Mozart
by purplepantsandpradaglasses
Summary: HumanVerse: Gilbert is upset because he's bad in bed and Roderich comforts him, while helping to correct the problem. Inspired by the song 'No Mozart' by Natasha Bedingfield. PruAus. Smut.


**Summary**: HumanVerse: Gilbert is upset because he's bad in bed and Roderich comforts him, while helping to correct the problem. Inspired by the song 'No Mozart' by Natasha Bedingfield. PruAus. Smut.

** AN:** Hi everyone! This is my first PruAus piece, which is surprising because I love the pairing to death. I've always had a headcanon that Gilbert is not very good in bed. I mean, he's all about preserving his own pride and making everything fast an intense as possible. I imagine he's very clumsy considering he hasn't had much experience in the bedroom, unlike Roderich. Then I heard the song 'No Mozart' by Natasha Bedingfield and it fit PERFECTLY with my headcanons. So here we have it, No Mozart. Please drop some kudos and comments down below or find me on tumblr at gilbertwinchesterknowsbest!

**No Mozart**

Gilbert rolled over in bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was the fifth time they had tried to have sex, and failed. Miserably. Okay, so they didn't fail at the actual act. Biologically it was sex, but it was so fucking awkward it could hardly be called sex at all. And no, it wasn't because of Roderich, far from it, actually, it was because he was total shit. Yes. Gilbert Fucking Beilschmidt was shit in bed. He knew it. Roderich new it. They might as well just stop fucking trying because of course he would be find some way to fuck up his relationship and Roderich would get fed up of his shitty skills and go find someone else to fuck who could actually do it right.  
He resisted the urge to cringe because it was even more awkward laying naked with someone you just had awkward sex with, because it was too fucking embarrassing and he didn't want to deal with the look on Roderich's face because he knew he was disappointed even if he tried to smile. And it was so fake he wanted to scream because he knew he was only doing this for him. Who the hell would want to have sex with someone who made it awkward anyway?

Suddenly a warm arm was wrapped around him and he was forced to open his eyes. Yep. Fake smile. Pity smile. Gilbert wanted to barf because now he felt like shit because he couldn't even do something as simple as fuck his boyfriend. And really, if fucking Francis could fuck someone it didn't take a genius.

And then he was kissing his cheek and Gilbert tried to ignore the feelings of insecurity for one second to smile, but he probably looked more like he was cringing.

"Stop," he said, shaking his head. "Just stop." He took in a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes.

Roderich blinked and sat up.

"What?" He asked. And that made Gilbert want to go jump off a building or something because hell now he thought it was his fault.

Another deep breath in.

"You don't have to act like that," Gilbert explained, exasperated.

"Act like what?" Roderich asked impatiently. Like he didn't even know. Obviously he knew what Gilbert was talking about. He had to.

"You know what!" Gilbert exclaimed.

"How am I supposed to know what you're talking about?" He asked, rolling his eyes. "Forgive me, but I'm not clairvoyant."

Gilbert shifted awkwardly. "You know what I'm talking about." Please don't make me say it. .

"No. I don't."

"Yes you do! You have to!" How the hell didn't he know?

Roderich shut his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"Well I'm sorry, but I don't know what the hell you're talking about so either tell me what it is or don't."

Oh. No way in hell was he talking about it out loud. How would the conversation go.

'Oh by the way I know I suck at sex. Sorry about that. I guess you should go back to fucking someone else.'

"Nevermind."

Roderich's gaze narrowed.

"You're really not going to tell me what I did to make you so pissed off?"

"No!" Gilbert sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not pissed at you!"

"Then what the hell is your problem?"

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"I don't have a problem. I'm just not in the fucking mood okay?"

Ouch. He averted his gaze to the wooden floor beside the bed, focusing on how many planks lined the floor.

Silence.

He felt Roderich shift to the other side of the bed.

"Why won't you ever talk to me?" He whispered. Gilbert looked up and shit. Oh there it was. Hurt. Now he hurt him AND he was bad in bed. Awesome Gilbert!

"It's not like that, you-"

"No. It is like that. You never tell me when you're upset and then I find out after Ludwig has to call me in the middle of the night to tell me you're passed out drunk somewhere."

Gilbert pushed his lips together and bunched the covers up with his hands. Wow. Biggest Fuck Up Of All Time award goes to Gilbert Beilschmidt. Way to go.

"Maybe I just don't want you in my business," He bit, although it wasn't true at all. Why did he always say things that weren't true.

He heard an intake of breath. This was going to be bad.

"Excuse me for caring about you. Maybe I should stop if that's how you really feel." Detached. Roderich's voice was detached. And that was the worst of all, because Gilbert knew that his voice was only so devoid of emotion when he was trying to hide it.

"Maybe you should," he said instead, and shrugged. Because really, maybe he should anyway.

Gilbert heard the bedsheets ruffle and feet hit the ground.

Fuckkkk.

"Shit, Roderich I didn't mean-"

"What the hell did you mean then, Gilbert because I'm getting tired of this!" His eyes were tired. And Gilbert felt his heart sink lower and lower.

"I-" Fuck why couldn't he talk? "Fuck. Okay. Look. I'm not good at talking about feelings-y shit, okay? So just hold on. Wait."

Roderich crossed his arms, waiting. Okay. Good. At least he didn't leave anyway.

Gilbert shut his eyes and made a face. Maybe he should just get it out in the open. He opened his eyes slowly and cursed under his breath.

"Look. I know that-" he took in a deep shaky breath and looked down. "Isuckinbedokay," he half rushed, half whispered.

"What?" Roderich asked. Gilbert could hear the eyebrow raise in his voice even as he was looking down. He winced.

"You fucking heard me okay so don't make me repeat it."

He heard an intake of breath and the bed creaked as Roderich sat down next to him.  
He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again.

"Why would you think that something like that mattered?" He asked carefully after a moment, every word carefully calculated, and Gilbert could tell.

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't feed me that 'it doesn't matter!' bullshit, Roderich. I know it bothers you."

They were both silent for a moment and Gilbert swore the silence was slowly suffocating him.

"Alright," Roderich said in that same calculated voice that Gilbert hated because he knew it meant he was censoring himself. "So maybe you aren't as...practiced..."

Gilbert cut him off with a groan.

"Practiced my ass. I fucking suck." He turned toward Roderich for the first time and met his eyes. "I fucking suck and I get it if you're fed up with it so you can go find someone else who's better at it or something because it's so fucking awkward with me." Gilbert looked down shamefully when his voice wavered. Damn it. Now he was getting overly worked up. He never did this. This is why he hated talking about feelings, because feelings are shit.

He felt a hand on his own and he pulled it away. The last thing he needed was pity.

"Gilbert, look at me." He looked over reluctantly and blinked when warm lips covered his own, leaving before he had any time to react.

"I'm not going to leave you just because you're bad in bed," he said, hands winding their way into Gilbert's own. "I love you. And we can practice," he added, smiling a little. Gilbert scowled. He shouldn't even need to practice.

"Who the hell needs to practice fucking? I shouldn't have to practice," he groaned.

Roderich bit his lip.

"Well," he started carefully after a moment. "No one learns how to do something without practice," he said, running a thumb along Gilbert's hand. "Like...playing the piano."

"Oh God," Gilbert groaned. "Now we're giving shitty piano analogies?"

Roderich narrowed his eyes and Gilbert rolled his own.

"My point is, that they both take practice."

Gilbert looked up finally and met kind, patient violet eyes. He wanted to scoff but he

couldn't. Because now he felt more vulnerable than ever.

"Practice," he repeated, as though pondering it. "How the hell are we going to 'practice'?"

Roderich smirked. Literally he smirked.

"Well how do you suggest we practice?"

Oh right. Duh. Only no. Fuck. He wasn't having sex again now that he knew how much  
he sucked at it. Not now...

"Not what I meant," Gilbert said impatiently. "I meant how the hell am I going to get any better at it?"

"I'll show you," Roderich said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Gilbert was about to protest when Roderich was already kissing him again. He brought his arms to rest in his hair, eyes fluttering shut. This he could handle. Kissing.

And touching. Touching he could also handle. He felt Roderich's hand travel up his chest and took in a deep, shaky breath through his nose.

After a few moments of touching and breathing and petting, Gilbert was tired of sitting back like a girl. He parted Roderich's lips with his tongue, which was greeted satisfied gasp from the Austrian. He smirked against his lips, this he could handle. Why the hell was everything else so fucking difficult?

Roderich pulled back and kissed his way up Gilbert's neck, up to his ear.

"It's not a race," he mumbled, soothingly, hands trailing over his abdomen. Gilbert sighed, looking skyward. He wasn't used to feeling like this. He didn't do trust well and here he felt completely vulnerable. And he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Of course these were hands that he loved, hands that could weave symphonies and concertos, hands that touched him like he meant something, even when he was fucking it up.

So instead of arguing he sat silent and for once, forfeited his dominance to be patient. All the times before he had demanded to be on top, and he always managed to fuck something up. He would come too fast, or go too hard or keep an awkward rhythm. Every time something was wrong to it and it was beginning to wear on him.

Roderich's mouth was working at his jaw, nipping at the skin, but not harshly. He moved down his chest, giving the skin there similar treatment. It was all Gilbert could do but groan.

"Don't take all fucking day, specs."

He felt Roderich smirk against his abdomen and it made his blood heat up.

"Don't be impatient or I'll take longer," he warned, looking up with deep violet eyes. Gilbert shivered.

"I'm already impatient," he began to grumble, but was cut short by a quick nip to his hipbone and taken over by a moan.

"You were saying?"

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

Roderich rolled his eyes and continued to nip around Gilbert's pelvic area, almost ignoring the question. If it weren't for how good it felt, Gilbert would have pitched a fit.

And then his hands traveling downward and an embarrassing moan filled his throat.

"Just stop fucking teasing," he snapped, sitting up only to glare at his partner, who was unperturbed.

"All in good time, liebe," he said, eyes blazing. Gilbert fought the urge to groan again. Why the hell was this so embarrassingly frustrating for him? It would probably have been less embarrassing at this point to just take the lead and fuck up again.

But there wasn't time to think about that, because before he knew it a finger was pressing into him and he felt himself tighten around it with a cry as it began to move inside of him.

Kisses were pressed around his thigh as he grew accustomed to the sensation of something inside of him.

"Tell me when you're ready for more," Roderich said against his inner thigh, as his lips continued to nip and brush his skin. "And tell me if it hurts."

Gilbert nodded, already so hard from the bites around his thigh that he could hardly concentrate on anything else.

"Just hurry up!" Gilbert hissed, groaning again as Roderich pushed another finger inside of him and then another until he was carefully stretched and so completely desperate that his mind wasn't focused on anything other than the hardness of his own cock and the tightening of his ass against Roderich's fingers.

And then he came. Too early, as usual, cum squirting onto his abdomen. He shook and then collapsed, eyes shut angrily.

"Sheisse!" he cursed, tugging at his hair. Roderich shook his head and leaned forward to kiss him, but Gilbert pushed him away.

"Just because you came doesn't mean we're done practicing," Roderich said, in a measured tone of indifference. "We'll have to try again. And this time, you're going to tell me when you're about to come so I can stop and let you get ahold of yourself before we continue," he said, as though reading something from a textbook. Gilbert groaned, and resisted the overwhelming urge to cover his face.

Roderich's eyes softened and he rolled off of his partner and kissed his cheek reverently.  
"Talk to me," he whispered, "What are you thinking about?"

Gilbert made a face and shrugged. He hated talking.

"You know, keeping it inside isn't getting you anywhere," Roderich stated wisely, hand playing with Gilbert's hair that had fallen in his face.

Gilbert shut his eyes and opened them again.

"It's easy for you," he said carefully, oddly soft compared to his usual demeanor of confidence. This was fragile. "You've been with so many people, and you know how to make me feel good..." He trailed off stupidly. Why was this so hard.

Roderich stared at him seriously for a moment, as though lost in thought.

"It doesn't matter to me that you're not experienced, I've told you that," Roderich said, meeting his eyes, searching them. It made Gilbert feel even more naked than he already was. "Even if you're not perfect in bed, you still make me feel good."

Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"I don't care if you're clumsy and inexperienced because it's you, Gilbert, look at me." He reached for Gilbert's chin and forced him to look up at him. "Sleeping with you is perfect because I love you. And I have never loved anyone the way that I love you. That's special, and even if I have slept with more people, you are the one that mattered the most."

Gilbert had no idea how to respond without sounding like some sappy girl, but instead, he reached for Roderich's face and kissed him passionately. When he pulled away, his heart was racing in his chest. Because Roderich accepted him and understood him in a way that no one had ever taken the time to understand him before.

He understood that he wasn't always as awesome as he claimed to be and he loved him anyway. He loved his flaws. He loved his shitty attitude, even if they fought. He loved him. And now everything they had just argued over and discussed seemed petty in light of everything else.

"Fuck," Gilbert said finally, unable to express in words how he felt. "You're...awesome, Roddy. Seriously." He caught his eyes meaningfully.

Roderich laughed lightly despite himself.

"I suppose that is the highest compliment according to you."

Gilbert grinned.

"Damn right it is."

He rolled over so that he was on top of his boyfriend and kissed him soundly again, feeling much more confident than earlier.

Roderich laughed when Gilbert pulled back.

"Seems like someone is eager to get back to practicing."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and kissed him briefly.

"I have a feeling we'll be getting a lot of practice in tonight," he said lowly, almost embarrassed, but also completely suggestive. Roderich opened his mouth to respond before it was captured again in another kiss.

It might never be perfect, but a few wrong notes never really mattered to him anyway.


End file.
